


Are you happy?

by WingcommanderArthurShappey



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: I can't work with tags, M/M, Other, people are confusing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingcommanderArthurShappey/pseuds/WingcommanderArthurShappey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a little question with a ginormous meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are you happy?

 Arthur has noticed an odd thing about people, and that is that many of them don't seem to get what being happy _means_. Or maybe they do, but they don't talk like they do, because the thing with language and words is that they're often used in a way that's not quite true, like when you say "oh, I _love_ Maths" in a Douglas-y voice and with a roll of your eyes, which means that you don't _really_ love Maths, you just say you do because you're being sarcastic and being sarcastic means to say the opposite of what you're thinking, even if that doesn't make much sense. (It seems to be something clever people like to do a lot, though, because Douglas does it, and Skip does it, and even Mum and Herc do it, and maybe that's why Arthur's not good with sarcasm and lies; because he's not very clever.)

Arthur thinks that if everyone took their own words and the words of everyone else a bit more literally, he'd be better at talking and writing and listening - well, he's good at listening, but not at understanding what people mean when they try to explain things to him, and sometimes they're being sarcastic without using a sarcastic voice or rolling their eyes sarcastically, and then it's impossible to tell that what they say is not actually what they _want_ to say. It's confusing, really. Sometimes he has to stop and think about things _he_ says, like "I just love chocolate", because he doesn't _really_ , does he? He may like it a lot, that's true, and he loves eating it, but he doesn't want to marry a bar of chocolate and move in with it, does he? And then, of course, he realises that he also loves Mum, and he still wouldn't want to marry her and move in with her, although, naturally, they already live together. But they don't live together because they're married, although Arthur loves Mum even more than he loves chocolate.

Anyway, there's an odd question people use to ask each other all the time, and that question is: "Are you happy?"

Now, that's not the worst question to ask someone; in fact, Arthur thinks it's a brilliant question because it shows that you care about each other, and Arthur likes being asked questions he can answer with a "yes". But that's... not why people ask.

For instance.

Arthur is six years old, and Mum and Dad are having one of their louder arguments. He doesn't know what makes him cry, if it's a particular word or a gesture or - or _anything_ , really, he just starts crying and can't seem to stop. And Mum and Dad see him standing there in the hallway, and tears and snot are running down his face, and Mum turns to look at Dad with such a cold, hard anger in her eyes and says "Are you happy now, Gordon?", like the whole argument was just about making Arthur cry.

 

Arthur is eight, and it's his second year at school, and he's sad and he knows it'll get better if he eats something sweet, because that's the secret of food, it can make you happy again if you're feeling down, unless it's spinach. He _knows_ he's not allowed to have biscuits before lunch, but he climbs on a chair and stands on tippytoes to reach the jar of biscuits; and his fingertips have barely touched it when Dad steps into the kitchen and Arthur startles and falls, and the jar falls, too, and then there are lots of shards and broken biscuits and Arthur’s knee hurts, and he’s ashamed.

“Are you happy now?” Dad asks, in exactly the same voice Mum used when she saw Arthur cry during the argument (and they think Arthur doesn’t remember, but he does), and he _thinks_ about that question for the first time and comes to the conclusion that, no, he’s not happy now – he hasn’t even been happy before, and now the jar’s broken and there are no biscuits left and Dad is disappointed in him because he saw him break the rules, and Arthur doesn’t usually do that. He’s not happy. He _would_ have been happy if he could have taken one of the biscuits, if he could have eaten it in his room, if Dad hadn’t caught him. But like this? No, Arthur’s not happy.

And he _knows_ he’ll never try to steal biscuits again.

 

Arthur is eleven and a half years old and he says goodbye to his two blue and white budgies Cuddly and Notsocuddly, who flew though Arthur’s open window after he forgot to close their cage. Cuddly and Notsocuddly, who were his only friends for quite a long time. Cuddly and Notsocuddly, who are just tiny little dots between the swirls of clouds in the sky now. And Dad yells at him and calls him an idiot, and tells him that this was the last time he bought Arthur a pet, and that this is the best proof for how stupid and unreliable he is, and Arthur thinks that that’s a bit unfair, because he was quite good at taking care of them until now, because he’s had them for three years; three years of never forgetting to close their cage and one single time when he _did_ forget, and Dad’s only talking about that one last time. And then he asks him if _he’s happy now_ , and Arthur doesn’t look up, he just shakes his head.

Later, with her arms wrapped around him and her hand in his hair, Mum asks him the same question, only in a different voice, softly and carefully, and she asks „ _are_ you happy now?“, not „are you _happy_ now?“, because there’s a difference.  And Arthur looks at the empty cage, and then he snuggles closer and whispers into her shirt that yes, he’s happier than he’s been before, because even if he’ll miss his budgies so, so much (and he couldn’t even say goodbye) and he’s really worried they’ll get hurt, he thinks a bird belongs into the sky, not into a small, silly cage, and he can hear the smile in Mum’s voice when she mumbles „that’s my boy“ and pets him a little more. And Arthur learns: What matters is how you say it.

Arthur is alone in his room now, but he doesn’t mind. It’s better than sharing your room with two sad birds.

Eight years later, Mum buys Snoopadoop.

Seventeen years later, Arthur’s been a steward for quite a long time and he still hopes to see Cuddly and Notsocuddly when he looks out of one of Gertie’s little windows. They’re somewhere up here, between all the clouds and the planes and the balloons and the wind and the other birds, and one day, he’ll meet them again and he’ll finally have time to say goodbye.

 

Arthur is nineteen, and he’s just had his first kiss, and there’s a huge grin on his lips as he bounces home, really, really excited to brag to Mum about what just happened. Their neighbour is an old lady who smells of cough sweets and cats, which is brilliant, and she’s busy watering her flowers when Arthur passes by her house and waves at her. She looks at him with grey, kind eyes and smiles and asks „are you happy, Arthur?“ And Arthur hesitates and for the first time, he realises that it doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad question – but it’s still a silly one, because clearly you can _see_ that he’s happy, but he doesn’t mind because he really likes his neighbour and because if there’s one person on this planet who really shouldn’t be annoyed with others for asking silly questions, it’s Arthur Shappey. He smiles. Then he smiles even bigger. „How could you _tell_?"  
And Arthur learns: What matters is the word _now_. 

 

Arthur is twenty-nine and a half years old, and he just poured cold orange juice over a client’s skirt. He didn’t do it on purpose, promise, he just stumbled and couldn’t balance the tray and now he's blushing and stuttering an apology, because this lady is angry, pretty, pretty angry _and_ pretty when she's angry, and that's making him really nervous.

"Are you happy now?! Look what you've done! I told you to not to use the tray - This skirt cost me more than _you_ make in six months, and it will be _very_ expensive to clean!"

Arthur wonders how that's supposed to make him happy.

He doesn't ask.

 

It's a warm, brilliant day and Skip has fallen asleep with his head on Arthur's chest. There's the sound of ocean waves, mainly because they're lying on a beach together, and they've still got eight hours left until their next flight, and everything smells of sun screen and salt and warm, wet sand. Arthur's running his fingers through Skip's salty hair, and he chuckles softly when he sees Douglas trying to convince Mum to get into the water. One of those things, the stroking or the chuckling, must have woken Skip up, because he makes a confused little noise and opens his eyes and blinks slowly. Arthur puts his hand on Skip's forehead to protect his eyes from the sun. There's something bright and brilliant and tender in the smile his boyfriend gives him when he turns his head to kiss Arthur's chest. Tiny little grains of salt sit between his eyelashes and it's the cutest thing Arthur's ever seen.

"Are you happy?" Skip asks quietly, with something soft and gentle in his voice that says he already knows the answer. And Arthur listens to the sounds of thousands of little stones dancing in the waves, to the sound of Skip's heart beat and to the excited yapping of the little black dog that plays in the sand. He watches the clouds and the birds and the rocks and the endless waves of the sea, and the wind tickles his skin when he leans in for a kiss and says:

"Very."

And Arthur learns: What matters is if you mean it. And that means that maybe, after all, it's not as silly a question as he always thought.


End file.
